


(Open) Invitation

by Kyra_Bane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Emotionally Repressed, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, I promise, M/M, Office Sex, Texting, eventual sexytimes, they'll get there in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra_Bane/pseuds/Kyra_Bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft accidentally declines Greg's rather colourful proposition; so he does some proposing of his own instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Procrastinating like hell because I have an essay and exam for this week... so enjoy a little bit of Mystrade ;). It's multi-chapter, but they're short, so I should hopefully have it all up soon~

_"I do sometimes wonder what it'd be like to have your cock in my mouth."_

Mycroft stopped, drink halfway to his mouth – because he knew there was no way he was wrong; but at the same time, he knew that there was no possible way he had just heard those exact words spill out of Gregory Lestrade's mouth.

When he looked up, the man in question gave him a slow grin that was promising and dirty, but hid a hint of nervousness in the twitching corners of his lips. Mycroft felt his insides quiver and took a drink, casting his eyes once, quickly, around the pub they were sitting in. It was quiet, for a Saturday, though Mycroft was suddenly even gladder that his brother and the doctor had decided not to join them.

He looked back up at Gregory, who was still smiling, but the heat had seeped out of it. He picked up his own drink and took a swallow and Mycroft followed the movement of his throat with his eyes. He glanced away before Gregory caught him. The matter seemed to be closed; it was the closest Gregory would come to an outright proposition and Mycroft had, in some way, declined. Of course, the invitation was still evident in every line of Gregory's body, if one knew where to look.

(Mycroft always knew where to look.)

Three days later, when he still couldn't stop thinking about those words, about the way Gregory's lips had curled around them, his voice husky with some emotion that sent tingles firing across Mycroft's skin, he picked up the phone.

He put it immediately back in its cradle, hands shaking almost imperceptibly. 

Mycroft did not enjoy this feeling. He had something to discuss with Sherlock, but since baby brother would figure him out in an instant, he could not attend to that matter without making himself look a fool. 

Then there was, of course, the nagging thought that he _wanted_ this, he really did – but there was something in that thought he didn't like, so he ignored it. 

A better thought was this one: he needed to get it out of his system. Genius or not, some biological urges were difficult to overcome and if there was a solution being offered to him on a plate like this, then who was he to turn it down?

(He thought of grey hair and dark, soft eyes and the dirtiest smile he'd ever seen on a man – but he tried not to think of _Gregory_. It was much easier that way.)

Taking a breath, steeling himself, Mycroft reached for the phone again. His hand didn't shake. He dialled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft finally gets in touch with Greg (via the medium of text, of course).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these chapters are so short. I keep rewriting them and trying to lengthen them, but it is not happening. 
> 
> Ah well.
> 
> Still in exam season; hopefully I'll get the whole thing finished before exams are over ;).

Two dead bodies, one shithole of a crime scene and a missed call later, Gregory Lestrade finally got around to checking his phone. He was tired and moody and debating whether he _really_ needed to call Sherlock out for a case like this, so when he saw the missed call was from a blocked number, he rolled his eyes and didn't think about it twice. 

The text at two-thirty in the morning was another thing entirely, however.

_Since it would appear you are not amenable to speaking on the phone, I thought this method might be a better idea. –MH_

Bleary-eyed, though only half-asleep, Greg fumbled for the phone, almost knocking it off his nightstand. When he read the text, he felt his stomach do a little flip and any idea of annoyance flew out the window.

He hadn't thought about – had studiously _not been thinking about_ – Mycroft Holmes since their night in the pub on Saturday. Thinking about it now made him want to cringe. What the fuck had he been thinking, saying something like that?! He'd not even been that bloody drunk.

Apparently there was no need to ignore Mycroft now then; clearly he'd not been as bothered by the whole thing as Greg had figured. Greg snorted. Mycroft had probably just written it off as foolish, drunken behaviour. 

He was probably texting to warn Greg of his imminent summoning to give him a formal apology, or some shit like that.

_Sorry. Crime scene. Plus, number's blocked. Thought you were a cold caller. GL_

Greg put his phone back on the nightstand and resolutely turned his back on it, thumping his pillow into submission before he settled down again. He closed his eyes but there was nothing for it; he could feel the buzz of anticipation - what if Mycroft text back?

At that, Greg actually let out an exasperated sigh. What, was he a love-struck fourteen year old now? He settled further into the bed and closed his eyes. He'd just drift off, and deal with it all-

The phone buzzed twice, the noise loud in the silence of his flat. Greg was surprised by the way his heart thumped against his ribcage and the excitement that fluttered in his stomach.

_I have a proposition for you, Gregory. Are you free tomorrow evening? –MH_

Greg frowned at the words. Mycroft Holmes, _asking_ if he was free instead of simply bundling him into a passing vehicle? That was unusual.

_Sure. Why? GL_

Greg hoped the suspicion came across in the text; but it didn't matter, because Mycroft's reply was almost instantaneous. 

_I would like to explore some of the possibilities of the rather bold statement you made on Saturday night. If, of course, you are still interested. –MH_

Greg sucked in a breath, wondering for a second if he wasn't reading it properly. But no, the words were still there when he looked again and he felt his skin tingle as the beginnings of arousal spread up his spine.

_Definitely still interested. GL_

_Good. You will be picked up tomorrow evening, eight sharp. Good night, Gregory. –MH_

Greg grinned in the darkness, in spite of himself. He stared at the screen for a few more moments before slowly tapping out his final reply. 

_Good night, Mr Holmes. GL_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finally gets to satisfy his curiosity...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, longer chapter! Yay, smut! Boo, horrible length between updates!
> 
> ...Hopefully I'll be quicker with the final chapter.

The car pulled up at eight o'clock on the dot – not that Greg had been keeping an eye on the time, or anything. He dithered a little when he heard the knock on the door, but pulled his coat on anyway, feeling his stomach twist itself into knots.

It wasn't Mycroft at the door, of course.

Instead, a man stood before him – one that Greg, even with many years of police experience, would only ever be able to describe as 'non-descript'. The man stepped back. "The car waits, sir," he said.

Greg swallowed, a little unsettled, then nodded. "Right, of course." He pulled his keys out of his pocket and locked the door, the man far enough away to be out of his personal space but close enough that Greg couldn't really forget he was there.

The car, as ever, was _nice_. Greg sank into the leather seats with a breath that could have been interpreted as a sigh and the man slid into the front seat. A quiet purr of the engine as the car started and they were off, driving away from Greg's home to – where? Mycroft's?

Greg frowned and wondered just what, exactly, Mycroft Holmes' house could possibly look like. It could be stately and grand, Greg supposed, but on the other hand, Mycroft was always such an enigma. Greg could just as likely see him living somewhere plain, somewhere that didn't feel like home, what with the hours he kept in his mysterious job.

They stopped and Greg looked up with a start. He frowned again. He recognised this building – Mycroft's bloody office was here! 

The man opened the door and Greg stepped out onto the street. "Are you sure this is where we're meant to be?" he asked.

The man gave him a look but didn't answer. It was a look that just smacked of _Mycroft_ and Greg felt his stomach twist again. 

So, presumably, Mycroft was waiting somewhere up there, Greg thought as they made their way into the building. The man swiped some kind of card in the lift and then they were heading up – and Greg could feel his nerves building as the numbers of the floors passed them by.

This was _not_ a good idea. It was, possibly, the worst idea that Greg had ever talked himself into, and that was saying something, considering he'd been the first person to let Sherlock Holmes near a crime scene. 

What was worse was that they were here, in Mycroft's office, where God only knew what happened everyday – why couldn't they have done this at someone's house? Or, better yet, a hotel room. Greg wouldn't have minded a shag in a hotel room, not really. 

The lift stopped and the doors opened. The corridor was familiar to Greg even though he'd only been down it perhaps once or twice. The door at the end looked forbidding.

"Go on," the man at his side said, his voice almost encouraging. "He's waiting."

Greg stepped out of the lift and had just enough presence of mind to shoot the man a glare before the doors closed. Little shit-

So there he was. In the corridor outside Mycroft's office, at least _some_ of his dirty fantasies about to come true – and he couldn't bring himself to step forwards. 

Greg scrubbed a hand over his face. Jesus Christ, he was too old for this bollocks.

He walked down the corridor somewhat hastily, making sure he knocked on the door before he had time to think about it again.

"Come in," Mycroft said and Greg pushed open the door, closing it behind him once inside.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and looked Greg up and down. It was enough, that one look, to make Greg's skin break out in goosebumps and the nervousness in his belly turn to heat. 

"I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

"It was… fine," Greg said. He pushed away from the door and stood in front of Mycroft's desk, unsure what to do with this barrier between them. He wanted to grab Mycroft by the lapels of his jacket, drag him up and over it and-

Mycroft smiled, a delicious curl of his lips, and Greg felt that train of thought derail. 

He probably was even less in charge of this situation than he thought. And he was pretty sure he didn't think he was in charge.

"What do you want?" Greg asked. His pulse hammered in his throat as he waited for Mycroft's answer.

"Well, Gregory, you did say you wondered about… certain things. I thought you might as well satisfy that curiosity."

Mycroft didn't stand, but Greg got it when he leaned back from the desk and spread his legs. Greg nodded and shrugged off his jacket, making his way around the desk and falling to his knees.

Okay, so maybe he'd expected this to be a little more passionate and a little less making him feel a bit like a prostitute, but he'd been telling the truth the other night – and he knew Mycroft had seen that. He looked up and grinned when he saw Mycroft watching him with hooded eyes. If Greg wanted passion, he'd have to work for it – have to drag it out of the man.

He had always liked a challenge.

He unbuttoned Mycroft's trousers, tugging them down a little way and pushing his shirt up so he could gently scrape his fingernails across Mycroft's belly. Mycroft hissed a little at the sensation but didn't protest – though that was most likely because Greg was already mouthing at the outline of Mycroft's cock through his boxers. 

He licked and sucked at the fabric – and at the organ laying beneath – until he felt Mycroft begin to harden and his hips started to shift a little. With one last lick and a slightly harder scratch down Mycroft's sides, Greg pulled his head back.

"Lift your hips," he whispered.

Mycroft did as he was bid and Greg pulled his boxers and trousers to his knees, pushing his legs apart almost roughly. He pressed wet kisses to Mycroft's inner thighs, sucking hard enough on some that he knew they'd be bruises come morning. 

The whole time, his eyes flicked between Mycroft's cock and his face – his face betrayed nothing, but his cock was now hard and upright, leaking a little. Greg grinned again to himself and bit down gently on Mycroft's inner thigh.

" _God-_ " Mycroft said nothing else, but threw his head back, revealing a long, pale column of neck that Greg ached to kiss. 

It was probably time to reward that behaviour, though, so instead, Greg closed his hand around Mycroft's cock and licked up his shaft, flicking his tongue against the head. Mycroft's legs trembled slightly and Greg was sure he heard a choked-off moan when he finally took Mycroft's cock into his mouth.

He worked his way down to his hand – it had been a while, but he could feel himself get back into the rhythm of it – and for a while all he could hear were the obscene noises _he_ was making; the sucking, the harsh puffs of air, the occasional moan when he looked up and met Mycroft's eyes.

Mycroft made no noise, but Greg was detective enough to see the way his hands tightened on the arms of his chair and that the rise and fall of his chest had definitely increased, even if he couldn't hear the difference. He pulled off Mycroft's cock with a pop that sounded loud in the silence of the building and grinned when Mycroft's gaze sharpened.

"I didn't just wonder about your cock," Greg whispered and then leaned further down, sucking one of Mycroft's balls into his mouth. He felt all the muscles in Mycroft's legs tense up and, ha, he must not have been expecting _that_ one. Rolling the other in his hand, Greg kept his attention on just the one, wondering how long Mycroft would last.

Long enough to drive Greg insane at least, he thought and sucked again before he returned his attention to Mycroft's cock, taking almost the whole thing in his mouth this time. Mycroft's hips lifted off the chair and Greg had to pull off a little – but he was glad for the loss of control and began to work in earnest, pulling every dirty trick he knew to try and get Mycroft off. 

Feeling clumsy fingers in his hair, patting gently, Greg looked up, bleary-eyed as he took the whole length of Mycroft in his mouth again. 

"Gregory, I'm going to-"

Greg grinned – or tried to – and sucked hard again, letting his tongue run up and down Mycroft's shaft. He pulled back, sucked on the head and when he made his way back down, he felt Mycroft tense, felt liquid hit the back of his throat. 

Greg tried not to gag and swallowed, sucking until he was sure Mycroft was done. He let Mycroft's cock fall out of his mouth and leaned his head against Mycroft's thigh, looking up at him. "Well," he said, voice hoarser than it had been when he'd first entered the office, "That was interesting."

Mycroft, for his part, just stared back at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and Mycroft gets to satisfy his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished! It took a little longer than I was expecting and it's not all that long a story, but wooh, my first multi-chapter! :D Thanks to everyone who's read it/left kudos/commented. You're all awesome!

Mycroft stared at Gregory – _Greg_ – his mind, for once, almost blank. He was still watching; he could still see the smile that curled Greg's lips and the way he was breathing a little too hard; but he wasn't focussing on that.

Mycroft couldn't focus on anything but the look in Greg's eyes. He knew Greg was aroused – his pupils were blown, Mycroft could practically see the way his pulse was hammering in his throat and, most of all, he could _smell_ it; but there was something else there too, something that seemed suspiciously like fondness.

It was make or break time, Mycroft knew. He could send Greg away now, his own urges satisfied and, after a few days of hurt feelings and awkward conversations they would work together as normal, or-

Mycroft inhaled sharply as the ideas assaulted his senses, images of all the things they could do together-

Greg had heard the gasp and leaned up, frowning slightly. "Mycroft, what is it?"

Mycroft ignored him, instead curling his fingers in Greg's cheap shirt and hauling up the rest of the way, until they were face to face. Greg's frown only deepened.

"Mycroft?" he asked uncertainly.

Mycroft tried not to think, not to doubt himself – instead he leaned forward and planted his lips firmly on Greg's, before anything else could be said. Greg stiffened for a moment before he kissed Mycroft back, his hands threading through Mycroft's hair and tugging gently. When Greg's tongue found its way into Mycroft's mouth, Mycroft felt a moan curl up from the back of his throat and after a long moment he pulled away, his face flushed.

Greg rested his forehead against Mycroft's and they both breathed hard. When Greg leaned back, Mycroft shook his head. "Up," he said, his voice hoarse. "Stand up."

Greg stood and so did Mycroft, crowding Greg back until his legs hit the desk and he had to plant his hands to keep his balance. Mycroft leaned in and Greg's hands slid under his shirt; Mycroft shivered when Greg's attention turned to Mycroft's neck and he started kissing and sucking the pale flesh. He could hear his own pulse thundering in his ears and knew that if he had the capacity, he'd be hard again.

Trying to focus, Mycroft brought his hands to Greg's hips, sliding them across Greg's skin until he reached the button of his jeans. He fumbled it open and reached inside, taking Greg's cock in hand. Greg's reaction was instantaneous and, Mycroft thought, amazing – his mouth fell away from Mycroft's neck and his eyes fluttered shut as he bit back a curse. Mycroft slid his hand up once, then back down, and Greg shuddered.

Mycroft stole another kiss as he stroked Greg again, running his hand over the head and using Greg's precome to slick his cock a little. He sped up, twisting his wrist and Greg was panting now, staring up into Mycroft's face.

Mycroft smiled and captured Greg's lips gain, sucking lightly on the bottom one – and he felt it, he felt Greg's entire body stiffen against his before he came, breathing curses against Mycroft's mouth.

They stood for a while. Mycroft pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned his hand, then dropped it onto the desk. His fingers curled around Greg's hips and Greg rested his head against Mycroft's shoulder, his breathing slowing again.

After a moment, Greg said something, but the words were muffled against Mycroft's jacket.

"Pardon?"

"I said, do you fancy coming back to mine?" Greg said. He'd leaned his head back from Mycroft's shoulder, but didn't seem to want to look him in the eye.

Mycroft blinked, honestly surprised by both the question and Greg's seemingly doubtful reaction to – _everything_ they'd just done, then brushed his thumb lightly across Greg's jaw. Greg looked up.

"Yes. I would like that," Mycroft replied.

Greg grinned and kissed Mycroft before he could react. It was sweet, Mycroft thought, with just a hint of promise. "C'mon," Greg said when he pulled back, grinning as he fastened his jeans. "I bet we can have an even better time in a bed."

Mycroft nodded, rearranging his own clothes. More than a hint of promise, then.


End file.
